364. (quote) It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop. - Confucius

Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were always the fiercely fated couple of the Golden Trio. Hermione nagged and scolded and rolled her eyes, but her exasperation was tinted with love and warmth that was difficult to find in those tense, pre-war days of Hogwarts. Ron's jealousy and obtuseness were well-known both in and out of Gryffindor tower, and known by none more than Hermione herself. Mixed into it, however, was boyish charm and longing for the bushy-haired, buck-toothed nuisance that had refused to leave his and Harry's side ever since that Halloween so many years ago. A troll. They'd fought a bloody troll together.

And everyone who had half a brain at that castle knew that they were reaching the breaking point of Ron and Hermione's friendship. Constant bickering could only mean affection. The ability to push each other's buttons like no other was increasing sexual tension. Making Hermione cry was love.

Until she realized it wasn't.

She wasn't sure when her head finally caught up with her heart. She wasn't even sure if her heart was in it to begin with, if she was honest with herself. In her sixth year she convinced herself that all his previous displays of jealousy and child-like irritability were because he didn't know how to handle having a crush on a girl. She wasn't deaf; she heard the girls and boys gossiping in the common room or in the Great Hall about when she and Ron would just get over it and snog each other senseless. It was obvious they were head-over-heels for each other, but both were too stubborn to be the first to admit it to the other.

And maybe she convinced herself that the whispers were true. After all, these students had had many more amorous broom cupboard encounters that she'd had to break up as a prefect than she wanted to remember. It wasn't as if romantic love was something she was familiar with in her own life. Even her own parents were together more out of necessity for their child than any of their own feelings for the other. With Viktor Krum in her fourth year there had been the distraction of Harry being in mortal danger and Ron ruining the few moments they had tried to find together. They still kept up an amicable letter exchange, but he had a pretty Italian wife now and their relationship was anything other than romantic. Who was she to say what love was? They were young and had been friends for years, wasn't that how it always started? She hadn't read too many romance novels, but even there it was implied romantic passion included heavy fury.

And so she felt herself grow more attached to Ron and jealousy possess herself as he received the attentions of Lavender Brown. She herself did some pretty awfully jealous and furious acts in return, such as dating Cormac or sending vicious birds at Ron's face. She wasn't innocent, that she knew, making misinformed and misguided decisions at the fear of losing what she was rapidly coming to believe was her only chance of love.

But here she was crying again because of him, crying because of his temper, crying because he had betrayed her, crying because he betrayed Harry, crying because she shouldn't care, the war was over and done with and he had redeemed himself, crying because she couldn't forgive him, and crying because she should have never convinced herself she was in love with him in the first place.

It was a month after the Battle of Hogwarts and they had been cleaning the castle practically from the day after the war had finally ended. Ginny and Harry were sickeningly in love and both were still too caught up in actually surviving after Harry had actually died and Harry's previous shyness was, for the moment, gone as they set about christening every room still standing in Hogwarts.

Ron had, of course, been itching to do the same. She could sense it. A moment of heat in the midst of battle and suddenly it was all forgiven again. But a few nights after the battle she began to feel the weight of Ron leaving her and Harry during the Horcrux hunt. She felt all the times he had made her cry and that they had yelled at each other press against her chest. Every cruel and jealous word echoed in her mind and it finally snapped into place that Hermione had quite probably never even really liked Ron, let alone loved him.

And suddenly she was empty. She was so tired of crying over him. She had lost more tears to him than at any time during the war, and wasn't that just damn pathetic. Hell, she had held under Bellatrix fucking Lestrange's torture better than she had dealt with catching Ron and Lavender kissing. And she decided she was done wasting her emotional trauma on a boy who probably didn't even really love her either.

So then, why was hiding away yet again, crying at his anger at her rejection? He had found her resting by the lake, trying to beat some of the summer heat and taking a break from the cleaning efforts. She hadn't known he was supposed to come by that day. His shadow standing over her felt too cold as she realized what she had to finally tell him. What he had not taken well.

She was pretty sure the entire class knew about their disastrous falling out at this point. Maybe embarrassment was more the reason for her tears than anything. She had never really taken well to the ghastly articles that had been written about her by Rita Skeeter, for all she tried to hide it from the rest of the students.

Maybe it was fear that Harry would choose Ron over her. That Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys would choose Ron over her. She wouldn't blame them. Harry and Ron had been friends the longest out of any of them, and the Weasleys would never turn against one of their own. Harry had the additional problem of dating a Weasley, and he would even be socially obligated to choose his more-than-likely future family by marriage, no matter how close he was with Hermione or how much he cared about her.

Almost as if they had heard her thinking, Hermione heard feet against stone and the clear voices of Harry and Ginny coming closer to her hiding spot. She pulled her wand out and cast a silent Notice-Me-Not charm on herself. She didn't know if she could bear to lose everyone all in the same day.

"Ginny…" she finally heard Harry say a bit cautiously.

"Ron's a rotten prat!" Hermione was surprised to hear the amount of venom in Ginny's voice, "Anyone could tell that Hermione wasn't interested in a relationship with him anymore, no matter what he thought had happened or if he thought they had an understanding."

"Er… they could?" Harry asked, and Hermione had to keep herself from chuckling at the confusion in his tone. Harry had never been the best when it came to girls and emotions. She could practically feel Ginny's withering glare in his direction.

"Obviously. Ronald," she sneered the name with distaste, "hasn't exactly been great to our girl in the past. I'm honestly surprised she ever gave him the time of day, though not surprised that with the war over she's been able to come to her senses."

"But, I don't -"

"Harry," Ginny spoke, a lot gentler, "it's really okay. No matter what everyone said, Hermione and Ron weren't meant to be together. He'll get over it. Right now, I'm more concerned with finding our friend and making sure she's okay. Ron isn't necessarily great with words, but he always knew the right ones to hit Hermione where it hurt the most."

"I know, love, I'm worried about her, too. There were too many nights spent sixth year comforting her after he had said or did something… well, stupid. I guess I should have seen this coming…" at that point they trailed far enough away where Hermione couldn't make out the conversation anymore. She felt a bit rude not revealing herself after they were so obviously worried, but she still didn't feel quite prepared enough to face people with her face so puffy and red. However, she also could feel a peace wash over her, and for the first time in awhile she felt hopeful that things would work themselves out in her life after the war.

"Hey, Hermione. I would ask why you're hiding, but my prat brother practically blasted it for all to hear. He doesn't exactly have a quiet side, unfortunately." Hermione jumped at the sound of her name, but canceled the charm as she recognized the friendly voice.

"How on Earth did you realize I was here? I know it's been awhile since I've had to actively conceal myself, but I didn't think I was that rusty." She answered, trying not to grimace at the reminder of her time spent camping.

"I wouldn't be one to ever think you would grow rusty either, dear 'Mione, but it does surprise me that you're - well - surprised," George Weasley threw a grin her way that Hermione hadn't seen cross his face in a long while, and it made her heart ache, "I used Notice-Me-Not so often in my youth that it sticks out like a sore thumb to me. That and you've managed to wipe away a human-sized amount of dust and grime from the window."

"So the map wasn't good enough to keep you out of the wicked hands of Filch?" She teased.

"More like we… weren't so graced enough to have a bloody invincible Invisibility Cloak with us at all times. Though your lot managed to get into enough trouble as it was." Only a small catch indicated his reluctance to speak specifically of just who exactly he'd always been getting into trouble with through the years.

"So what are you doing around this part of the castle? I feel as if I never see you off the grounds with Hagrid." And she was genuinely curious, not that she blamed him for wanting to stay out of the castle where so many of their lives had drastically changed. She had hardly spoken a word to him since the clean-up began.

"I suppose I wanted to make up for all the times I knew my brother was being a horror to you and never doing anything about it," he moved to sit beside her in her little window alcove, "that and I'm tired of people encouraging me to come into the castle more. You'd think they'd appreciate that a man needs fresh air. I enjoy Hagrid's company, but they all seem to think I'm intentionally separating myself from everyone else."

"Aren't you?" Hermione immediately cringed as the question slipped out. And she had the gall to get onto Harry and Ron for being tactless.

"I'm not avoiding people, I'm avoiding places," He answered, quicker and more honest than Hermione would have thought he would, "Every secret passageway, every staircase, every classroom, the common room, there are too many memories of him," and now she recognized the controlled lack of emotion he was trying to keep from his voice, "And Merlin forbid I even think about going up there."

Hermione shuddered at the thought. There was no need to mention the "him" or the "there." They both knew them achingly well. One of the few times she had spoken to George after the war was when he had come begging her to tell her what had happened, where it had happened, and she knew she couldn't leave Percy to be the one to have to relive the moment all over again. Even she had avoided the seventh floor corridor since she had been in the castle, always passing off assignments that went through the area to someone else who didn't have the tragic knowledge and memories that she did.

"If we won the war why has everything still gone to shit," she grimaced. George gave her a look that she couldn't quite read before suddenly pulling her in tight and fast.

"Ack! George Weasley, release me this instant!" She sputtered, spitting hair out of her mouth as George gave her a bone-crushing hug.

"I can't. You may be the first person who hasn't looked at me with pity in their eyes and simperingly asked me if I wanted to talk about it. I was ready to go steal another toilet seat and shove it up my own arse rather than deflect another one of those."

And she couldn't help herself, but she laughed and laughed because God she had missed laughing and joking freely and she had missed the lightness that the Weasley twins had brought into everything and then she was crying out of relief that though the war had stolen Fred Weasley it hadn't been able to take George Weasley, too.

She didn't even realize when George's own shakes of laughter had turned to ones of sobs and they cried together for everything lost and the hope that they all still had that they would be able to change the world for the better now. She didn't know how long they sat there after they stopped, George stroking her hair and Hermione fiddling with the sleeves of his robes, neither wanting to give up the comfort that they hadn't realized they desperately needed.

"We'd better get down to dinner. I'm sure Angelina will be missing you too," she teased him, and she felt warm at the genuine smile that crossed his face.

"We've been looking after each other. Some days we feel we're the only ones who understand the other. She'll be glad to hear I talked to you today. She may seem intimidating, but Angie's one of the biggest softies around these days." He helped her off the seat as they headed down to dinner.

"Do you think… could I join you and Hagrid tomorrow on the grounds? The castle has been a bit stifling lately and I find myself outdoors more often than not anyway." She asked hesitantly, but her fears were unfounded as George beamed.

"I think Hagrid would love your company as much as I would. I know he misses your little trio more than he'll ever admit out loud. At least, when sober," they both snickered a bit out of mutual love and fondness for their giant friend and his inability to keep secrets.

They entered the eating area and Hermione was shocked to see Ginny berating Ron and the boy himself already looking sheepish. She sighed and starting walking towards her fate before George suddenly caught her arm.

"How about we kip outside for a picnic, yeah? I'll get Angie to grab us some things and we'll meet you out there. I trust in you to find us the perfect spot," he winked at her before heading over to his friend.

Hermione couldn't walk out fast enough, but also couldn't keep the grin threatening to split her face down. They were all still recovering, they would probably always be recovering, but the important thing was to keep going, keep finding things to love and people to smile with and laugh amongst. After all, it does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.